Well Met by Moonlight
by voltaire22
Summary: The journey of a Dragonborn in his quest to kill Alduin, free Skyrim, and become a new Talos.
1. For Talos

"For Talos!"

The Dragonborn crashed into the pair of Draugr, shoulder-charging with shield first. All three went down in a tangled heap of flailing limbs.

Vilkas and Farkas were amused, and more than a little confused by the logic of doing such a thing without having transformed into a werewolf, until they remembered that he was Dragonborn.

The reminder came in a breath of fire, delivered to the downed Draugr at point blank range, melting their heads off.

Here and there, Draugr started to awake. How could they not after hearing the Dragonborn and the two Companions storming their way through Volskygge Passage?

"You take those two, brother. I'll take the three on the right," said Vilkas.

"Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeroy Jenkins!" the Dragonborn roared at the top of his lungs, back on his feet and challenging every Draugr within a ten mile radius to fight him. His shield, which was used only when he needed to bash and stun enemies or shrug off a volley of arrows, served its third purpose as it sailed through the air and knocked a Draugr Scourge off its feet. In its place, a war axe was drawn, and the Dragonborn joined the melee in earnest.

Meanwhile, Vilkas transformed in order to take on the growing numbers of Draugr on his side. Three had suddenly turned into five, and one of them was a Draugr Deathlord. Farkas had already taken care of the two Draugr Wights on his side, and was giving a good account of himself with his bow.

In his werewolf mode, Vilkas was no less an engine of destruction than the Dragonborn was. With Farkas's support, the two slaughtered their way through to the top of the passage.

The Dragonborn kicked open the door, and emerged at the peak of Volskygge.

"Another coffin, and a Word Wall. Just as I was told," said the Dragonborn. "Farkas, cover us. Vilkas, I trust you with my flank, shield-brother."

The werewolf grunted while Farkas drew his bowstring back, already aiming at the Dragon Priest or Draugr Deathlord who was bound to come out of the coffin. For this occasion, he had borrowed the Dragonborn's ebony bow and arrows. He would, of course, transform into a werewolf if the situation turned for the worst.

The Companions' worst fear came to be, and a Dragon Priest burst out of the coffin.

"Wuld!" the Dragonborn was, in an instant, at the Dragon Priest's back. Twin blades cut into the Dragon Priest's torso, setting it on fire.

Before the Dragon Priest could turn, Farkas had sent two arrows through its torso, and considering Vilkas's momentum, it was quite clear that the game would be over for the traitor.

Vilkas mounted the Dragon Priest, and pounded at its head with his strengthened forepaws. The Dragonborn, in the meantime, brought down his mace and war axe on the Dragon Priest's arms, disabling him.

Vilkas's clawed hands eventually made the skull cave in. A joyous chorus of howling echoed throughout the mountains as the Companions celebrated their victory.

"Put some clothes on, brother," Farkas suggested to a Vilkas who was turning back. "Even with the wolf blood, the cold is mighty fierce up here."

The brothers watched the Dragonborn absorbing the word from the word wall while ransacking the treasure chest next to it.

"Anything good, shield-brother?" Vilkas asked, donning his underwear.

"Well, there's the mask," the Dragonborn shrugged, continuing to rifle through the chest. "Some potions, rubies, some kind of an enchanted Orsimer warhammer, and an enchanted glass armor. Pfft. Elves make their armor as fragile as their bodies. The client's request is also there. Not bad for a day's work, I'd say."

"Are you kidding? The exciting part's over," Vilkas groaned.

"Yeah. Now we have to pick through that tomb for salvageable gear," sighed Farkas. "That's going to take an hour, at least. Would it kill you to try a more stealthy approach once in a while? Must you scream your father's name and charge?"

"As our founder Ysmir said, when in doubt, charge!" the Dragonborn removed his helmet, sporting a toothy grin and sweat-matted hair.

"I don't think he-"

"I jest, shield-brother. But we had the numbers and I thought it would be best to gather them in one place before killing them all," the Dragonborn charged the now depleted war axe. The latest in his arsenal of ebony, the war axe had been in Eorlund's loving care for weeks before being delivered to Hamal, the priestess of Dibella, to be enchanted. Skyforge steel was perfectly acceptable in killing a great variety of enemies, but change was afoot in Skyrim. With the civil war and the dragons, professional warriors such as the Companions needed the best.

Kodlak knew that he was going to retrieve his customized war axe, and had sent Farkas and Vilkas along for a request to scour Volskygge in search of a family heirloom lost to a client.

Tavius was grateful for the company, and the chance to learn another word of the dragons' tongue. The second word of the Whirlwind Sprint shout would come in handy some time. Maybe even that final day when he would challenge Alduin for the last time.

* * *

"We reaaallly should shtop," Farkas moaned, clutching on a hunk of venison in the vague but futile hope of alleviating his drunkenness.

"That's w-why I told you, told you, that w-we should have eaten before st-starting on the drinks," it was all the Dragonborn could do to keep himself from vomiting on his housecarl.

Said housecarl was, to the eternal shame of the Companions, outdrinking them. It was heresy. The Companions simply could not afford to lose in a drinking contest to any but the Graybeards, perhaps, in all of Skyrim. There were also the Redguards, of course, but to be a Redguard in a drinking contest was widely considered cheating.

"My thane, I think it might be best to stop this pointless contest," Tavius hated that Jordis sounded so calm, composed, and reasonable when the Companions were almost literally drowning.

"No!" Vilkas shouted. "The honor of the Companions is at stake! Barkeep!"

"Corpulus!" Tavius called. "Anosher r-round for shuh four of ush!"

"Housecarl, about the tab…" the owner of the Winking Skeever was obviously quite aware that further conversation with the Companions was as pointless as talking to chicken and cows was.

"This should take care of it," Jordis picked out the right coins from her thane's coin purse.

"Erm… he still owes us a hundred and twenty-"

"I know. I'll come back tomorrow with the rest of the septims. For now, could you call a couple of guards?"

"For drunken and disorderly behavior?" the innkeeper raised an eyebrow.

Jordis chuckled at the thought of the Companions waking up in jail in the morning, and then admonished herself for thinking that. "As amusing as that would be, no. To carry them to Proudspire manor."

"Drunk? We're n-not drunksh! We'sh perfectly alright!" Farkas grunted as his head hit the table and passed out, starting to snore not five seconds afterwards.

"B-brosher?" Vilkas poked his brother's side uncertainly.

"... The inn's spinning. Make it stop, Jshordis," the Dragonborn begged his housecarl, shortly before passing out.

Jordis thanked the Divines that she had managed to convince them to leave their weapons and armor behind before drinking. Her thane was quite a big man, especially considering he was an Imperial. He seemed almost as big as the average Orsimer.

Being one sworn to carry his burdens, Jordis wished her thane was smaller.

* * *

"… The bed is spinning," Tavius groaned. "And the sun is too bright. Make it stop."

He turned around to find his shield-brothers in the same bed, and thanked Talos that his housecarl recommended the extra large bed when furnishing the house.

"It's time to get moving, my thane," Jordis scolded as she handed him some water.

"What happened? Why does my head hurt so much?"

"You started a drinking game, then another, and then another with your companions and myself," she answered.

"Did I win?"

With another thane, Jordis might have lied, but Tavius was an impossible man who only succumbed to strength greater than his. "I won, milord, for the fourteenth time."

"You don't have to rub it in," Tavius whimpered, nursing his damaged pride.

"I have persuaded the driver to wait an hour, seeing as he'd be safer accompanied by three Companions and one a Dragonborn at that, but he'll be leaving soon."

"… If I were into blondes, I'd ask you to marry me."

"And who said I'd accept?" Jordis snorted.

Tavius had known his shield-brothers for two months now, and knew perfectly well how to wake them up. Farkas and Vilkas hit the ground, tumbling a little before coming to a stop on a dresser.

"By Ysmir!" they both yelped. The stone floor was cold.

"There's a wagon headed for Whiterun. Armor up," said Tavius. With his housecarl's help, he had the easier time getting into his midnight black ebony armor.

Farkas and Vilkas were also well practiced at armoring themselves, though, and the two helped each other in the way only close blood-brothers could. By the time Jordis kicked them out of the house, not five minutes had passed since their rude awakening.

"I'll be back! Stay safe!" Tavius said before running off towards the carriage, starting with a whirlwind sprint. He heard the echo of a reply as the Companions hit their stride. The gates of Solitude were opened to allow the Companions to pass through.

As warriors, it was important for Companions to keep up their stamina, and the only way to do that was to exercise regularly. Their quest to reach the carriage turned into a race to the stables.

"Hey! That sounds like-"

"There's a fight ahead!" Tavius shouted in alarm as he drew his axe and shield. "Protect the carriage! Talos, for your glory!"

Vilkas and Farkas started firing arrows. There was just enough space for one such as Tavius to engage in an active melee, and the Dragonborn was best suited among the three for a melee, barring werewolf transformations.

"Wuld-nah!" Tavius was carried straight into the heart of the melee, shield swinging and war axe chopping. With the help of the other two Companions' arrows, four of the humanoid hostiles were downed in moments.

The four remaining Solitude guards surrounded the last two of the hostiles, cornering them towards the Dragonborn. Tavius's mace reduced a skull to pulp and his war axe slashed two long and jagged cuts on the other's torso.

"Who the hell would dare attack Solitude in broad daylight?" Tavius hissed as he put his weapons away. "Search them!"

"Yes, sir!" the guards chorused, recognizing him as the Dragonborn and thane of Haafingar. Tavius chuckled at the irony.

He was thane of Haafingar, home to the Thalmor Headquarters in Skyrim, when he was quite obviously a devout follower of Talos. It had taken him two months to gather enough ebony weapons from Draugr to sell to the East Empire trading company and afford the Proudspire manor. Two months of risking life and limb in old, musty, Nord tombs full of uncountable legions of Draugr and perhaps as many spiders. At least it was much nicer than Breezehome, comfy though the old house in Whiterun was.

Confronted with so many septims and innumerable services rendered to the people of Haafingar, the court of jarl Elisif decided to overlook his quite obvious religious leanings. That was just as well, though Tavius would show them no mercy after Alduin was taken care of. With no other pressing threats, Tavius intended to reconquer Skyrim in Talos's name after Alduin was killed. He felt mildly guilty to jarl Elisif, but the woman simply did not understand.

Too few understood the importance of Talos in the pantheon of divinities. Talos was man made god, the pinnacle of human achievement, and the founding creed of the Empire. Without Talos, there was no Empire and no humanity. Without Talos, they may as well bend over and wait for the Altmer to come take them. By the Divines, Tavius despised the daedra worshipping scum the Dominion was full of.

"Thank you, Dragonborn!" the driver of the carriage the Companions were supposed to take emerged from his hiding place. "Truly, thank you!"

"My pleasure. You could repay me by stopping briefly at Morthal and try to go by the less bumpy roads, neh?"

"Of course! Anything you wish!"

"By Shor!" a guard yelped, jumping back and away from one of the corpses.

"What is it, guardsman?"

"Thane… they are vampires!"

"Vampires in broad daylight?" Vilkas snorted. "Do they only recruit among idiots now?"

"They also attacked Markarth in broad daylight," Farkas reminded him. "One of them even transformed into a… I don't know if that even can be called a vampire anymore."

"And there was that Orsimer who gave me that pamphlet. Said the Dawnguard are reforming or something. Maybe the vampire threat is bigger than we thought it'd be," said Tavius. "I wonder if the Silver Hand ever got around to dealing with real threats to Skyrim."

The three Companions guffawed, ridiculing the horrendously misguided and paranoid organization. True, some werewolves were unorganized rabble no better than vampires, but the Companions were something else entirely.

"Ah well. Tell jarl Elisif that if her people know of any vampire hideouts, she can contact the Companions through the normal channels," Tavius told the guards.

"What about the vampires?"

"Piss on them, and then set them on fire," Vilkas encouraged.

"Don't do it now!" Farkas snapped at Vilkas's hands before he could undo his belt.

"I don't know, but in the end, set them on fire. Now, we have places to be."

* * *

Morthal was a gloomy place, even after putting down the vampire Morvath. The Dragonborn was offered a plot of land at Windstad, but he didn't build anything there because it was so gloomy. The swamp to the north, he was sure, was filled to the brim with monsters and ghosts.

Still, he was welcome to Highmoon Hall for meals and Moorside Inn for beds. Tavius neither wanted nor needed compensation for putting down a few leeches but it was a welcome bonus nonetheless.

"My jarl," Tavius greeted Idgrod the Elder. Another irony that he should befriend a jarl on the Imperial side, but Idgrod was someone one should listen to.

When they had first met, Tavius thought she as a jarl represented the problem with the Imperials ruling Skyrim. Even though she was a Nord, she was so distant from the daily affairs of her Hold.

She told him that he would meet and join the Companions, and that he would appreciate the camaraderie. Tavius did not believe then, but he was now a Companion.

Idgrod was sitting with her family and her housecarl. Fortunately, the table was big enough to accommodate guests.

"My thane," Idgrod replied before shouting. "Gorm, tell the servants to bring some food for my thane and his Companion friends!"

"How did you know we were Companions?" asked Farkas.

"I saw you coming on the road. You have the look," Idgrod had a small smirk.

"If you saw us coming, why didn't you have food ready?" Tavius shot back.

"I didn't know if you were dropping by or passing by," Idgrod shrugged. "Although, I should have guessed you would not miss a chance for free food. Wet and tired dogs don't pass up a chance for free food."

Tavius wondered if Idgrod knew what the Companions were. Ever since becoming a part of the Circle, Idgrod always mentioned wet dogs at least once in their conversations.

"Companion Farkas at your service, jarl Idgrod."

"Companion Vilkas at your service, jarl Idgrod."

"Brothers?" Idgrod raised an eyebrow. "Your parents must be proud. Dead, but proud."

"Did you tell her about us?" Farkas asked Tavius.

"Even I didn't know we'd be stopping by at Morthal," Tavius shrugged.

"Wait, if you're Companions, you're going back to Whiterun, aren't you?" Idgrod's daughter, who was in a spark of unprecedented creativity named Idgrod, asked.

"We are, milady."

"Then would you mind carrying this letter to Danica? Danica Pure-Spring, at-"

"The Temple of Kynareth. Believe it or not, I'm a thane of Whiterun," Tavius took the letter. "I don't know why you bother. Joric is not mad. Different, but not mad."

"That's what I was telling her," the jarl sighed.

"I am not mad," Joric assured his sister, though he didn't sound entirely sure. The servants brought food for the Companions, and the three dug in.

"By the Divines, I don't know why I don't charge you for food," Idgrod, the jarl, grumbled.

"Because you're such a kind-hearted mistress. At least I prioritize when dragons come by, right?" Tavius didn't know what it was about Morthal that made the local mudcrab so delicious, but he did know that he was asking for seconds, thirds, and maybe even fourths.

"Speaking of pests," Tavius was quite certain dragons shouldn't be labeled pests, but he continued to listen. Even dogs know not to bite the hand that feeds them. "Some bandits took up residence in the Kjenstag Ruins. Yet again."

Tavius stretched out a hand, into which the jarl deposited a coin purse. The hand dipped into the coin purse, divided it into three, and gave one each to Vilkas's and Farkas's outstretched hands.

"I'm glad we enjoy such an understanding business relationship," said Tavius.

"I know. It's almost like you're worth my food," the jarl beckoned forth servants bearing seconds, thirds, and fourths of the food.

"If only you were two decades or so younger," Tavius moaned in pleasure as more crab meat dumped in butter sauce was shoveled in his mouth. "I would bed you until you couldn't walk."

"Please. Two decades younger, and I would have snapped your feeble twig off. I'd do the same to your companions."

Raucous laughter filled Highmoon Hall. This was another reason Tavius could respect Idgrod; she knew how to banter and gave as good as she got without being all prim and offended.

Tavius would spare her and keep her in power when he joins the civil war in earnest and the Stormcloaks took Morthal. It was so unlike the fate he had in mind for jarl Elisif, whom he would take as a concubine.

* * *

"Whiterun, thank the Divines!" Tavius collapsed as he got through the main gate, resting on the ground. Farkas and Vilkas staggered in after him.

"Companions, are you alright?" one of the guards asked in alarm.

"Do we look alright?" Tavius snapped, taking off his helmet. There were visible marks on his armor, and all of them looked scorched by fire. Farkas was even missing hair completely on one side of the head.

"Ah, Dragonborn," the guard saluted.

"Seriously, I'll give you fifty septims if you bring the three of us buckets of water."

"At once," another guard ran off towards the well.

"What happened?" Adrianne asked, wanting to help but not knowing where to start.

"Dragons!" Farkas groaned. "Two of them! One taking out the carriage half way from Morthal to Whiterun! The other, just at the ruined watchtower! All in the space of a single Divines-forsaken day! And guess what? In between the two, another Divines damned vampire attack!"

Tavius threw himself to the side as he began coughing up blood.

"By Shor! Do you need medical assistance, Dragonborn?" the guard bringing the water asked. Quite a few people were milling about the gate by now.

"No. I'll be fine, though only Talos knows how," steam rose from the places where the water touched Tavius's armor. "Divines that feels good. Someone help me take this off now."

The guards offered to help at once. Farkas and Vilkas were also dragged to their feet and stripped of their armor.

Finally, some of the Companions arrived at the scene. "What have you three been up to?" Njada snapped. "Farkas, why do you have a bad haircut?"

"You should try fighting two dragons in one day," Farkas snarled back, but took the offered shoulder nonetheless. "Now help me get to Jorrvaskr. My back is killing me."

"Athis, help Vilkas, back home," Tavius ordered.

"What are you going to do?" the Dunmer asked.

"Why, claim the Companions' rightful reward in slaying two dragons of course. We almost died out there. Might as well make sure there's profit in it. Ria, would you mind taking our armor to Eorlund? And tell him to send my dragon bone plates to Breezehome while you're at it."

"No problem," the Imperial replied, gathering all the armor in a conveniently empty mead barrel.

"My thane," Lydia moved to support him as he tried to walk.

Putting an arm on her shoulder, Tavius walked. Eventually, he had to rest his head against her shoulder. She smelled good. Females always did after close scraps. Perhaps later, when he was no longer coughing blood or favoring his right leg. Ysolda was always fair game if Irileth wasn't available. Tavius sometimes wondered if Irileth was jarl Balgruuf's mistress, but doubted it. She sounded more like his overprotective mother than a lover. The Dragonborn rarely bedded women he had professional relationships with.

"Out of curiosity, are there so many steps for defensive purposes? Or is it just a spectacular failure in city-planning?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "There aren't that many steps. You always use the sprint shout to get to the door."

"Might have to refrain from doing that this one time. What time is it?"

"Around dinner time, I imagine."

"Good. I'm eating here," Tavius pulled himself up the last of those damned stairs. "I suspect you'd be welcomed, too."

"My brother's in the city tonight, actually."

"You have a brother?"

"Would you mind if he stays at Breezehome for one night, my thane?"

"Feel free," Tavius handed over the coin purse that he had received from Idgrod. "For your food and stuff."

"Some thanes don't risk life and limb to earn enough money to pay their housecarls," Lydia admonished. "We're technically employed by the Hold. The jarl pays us."

"I'm a good warrior. I have no other skill to sell, so you'll have to make do with a thane who risks life and limb to pay you sometimes," the main gate to Dragonsreach was opened to let him in.

"Will you be returning tonight, my thane?"

"Unless I'm spectacularly unlucky, no. Maybe tomorrow, to check on the construction of the cellar and the third floor. How's it going?"

"The contractors are behind schedule, again. They demand five hundred more septims to install windows, build extra support, and whatnot."

"I'll have some harsh words with them. Tomorrow. Good night, Lydia."

Tavius turned and dragged himself towards his jarl's right. He latched on to another guard who approached to help him. The leg stung like madness.

"Our thane returns," Hrongar greeted with no small enthusiasm, pulling a chair next to him. He faltered somewhat at the Dragonborn's returning glare. "Is it just me or do you need healing?"

"None of that. I have enough potions to keep me alive," Tavius moaned in relief upon sitting down, and his hand immediately shot towards the dripping hunk of meat a servant set in front of him. "Food, sleep, and I'll be back at dragon-slaying in no time. Good evening, my jarl."

"Two dragons and a pack of vampires is what I heard," the jarl said. "Children, be quiet. Father is working."

The children obeyed. Balgruuf controlled them as easily as he controlled Whiterun. Here was a warrior king worthy of the name. Tavius would have no qualms if Balgruuf was selected as High King of Skyrim.

As long as he let people worship whomever they damned well pleased, of course, but the still standing statue of Talos in front of Jorrvaskr spoke favorably of the jarl's devotion.

"Two Companions and I were riding a carriage back to Whiterun," Tavius began. "I can't exactly recall where, but as soon as we emerged from the forest a frost dragon assaulted the carriage. Divines was that a difficult scrap, but we were decent enough archers to force the worm to the ground. It was the first dragon, and I was amply prepared for it. I gulped down a potion to resist its breath and charged. Lucky first blow stuck it in its right eye. Then, it's pretty much the same as usual. You hack until the thing is dead and try to go for the forehead or the heart. If it flies, don't let go and hold on for your dear life."

Everyone in the vicinity was captivated by his tale. Not that he had any great skill in bardic traditions, but few survived with such few numbers against a dragon.

"Luckily, it didn't come to that," Tavius shivered at the memory of the last time he had to hold on for dear life. "Anyways, we gather our things and continue on the road. We know bandits occupy one of those abandoned fort ruins out there but they know better than to bother Companions, see. We walk straight by them and they cower behind the walls."

"I really should do something about that fort," Balgruuf grumbled.

"I'd advise against it," Irileth cautioned. "It makes for a predictable gathering ground for bandits and other garbage."

"Is that another bounty, my jarl?"

"You'll be paid in due time, Tavius, but finish the story first. Aventus, the bounties for the dragons and the vampires!"

Aventus froze mid-bite. "Now, milord?"

"Yes, now! When are my orders ever not now?!" It gave the Dragonborn great pleasure to watch Balgruuf whip the pathetic Imperial, and doubly so when it worked to his benefit. Neither he nor the jarl's brother could hide their amusement, and both were scolded by Irileth's look.

Irileth enjoyed it, too, but was too professional to let it show.

"Anyways, we come a little past the fort and I take a fireball to the knee. Next thing I know, seven vampires and their thralls are coming for my blood. I hold center while my shield-brothers take my flanks. They don't know I am Dragonborn, and three line up to be burned to crisp by my breath."

"If ever you feel the need to sneeze, don't face my direction," Balgruuf chuckled. It was quite clear that he had not had entertainment for days.

"You should see me when I have a cold. Back to the vampires; the four remaining are alarmed and try to flee, but we run through three of them, one each. The last, well… we were a wee bit tired after fighting a dragon."

"That does not please me," Balgruuf muttered. "These vampire attacks have been getting worse of late."

"Apparently they're reforming the Dawnguard, to the east of Riften. The Dragonborn might consider aiding them. He'd be well-paid of course, for this public service," Irileth suggested.

"I was thinking of checking them out, as soon as there's a request for the Companions to venture to the Rift. Thanks," Tavius nodded as a servant took away his empty plate and replaced it with a fully laden one.

"Still no news of the Elder Scroll?" the jarl asked.

"My jarl, if it could be found like any old book, it wouldn't be called the Elder Scroll."

"Well, then. I think you might find yourself in Riften soon. I'll write a letter to the jarl. She should provide you with any support you need."

"A weapon in each hand, armor, and shield-brothers are all I need."

"Maybe so, but if you were tasked to track the vampire commanding the recent attacks, you might need people with… how should I put this… different skill sets than your own."

"Why, I never! Do you have so little faith in me, my jarl?" Tavius pretended to be offended.

"If there's a fight, I'll call for you. If there's a hunt, I need dogs. I will also be writing a letter to Maven Black-Briar."

"And this Maven Black-Briar is… a mead producer?" Tavius was puzzled by the leap in logic.

"One known to have contacts within the Thieves' Guild, and can make one help you track down the vampires. I know her because of the many, many petitions she sends each year to lower tariffs. I'm willing to concede perhaps five percent."

"These vampires must be really bugging you, my jarl. There were other attacks?"

"So many," Balgruuf was one step away from quaking in rage. "Eighteen guardsmen lost, all told, in just as many days, and more civilians."

Tavius believed Ulfric was right to fight the Empire. Worship of Talos was what defined the Empire. Talos was a being that defined humanity at its best.

But if the question of whether he'd be a good High King was raised, Tavius was not so certain. With Balgruuf, however, Skyrim would be in good hands. He saw the big picture but he wasn't blinded by it to the point of being uncaring of his people.

"I will endeavor to end this threat, my jarl."

"Good. I'll have a series of bounties planned out for you to reach east to the Rift. Report back tomorrow around lunch. Now, then… how about that last dragon?"

"Larger than any I'd seen, not counting Alduin," Tavius shook his head at the thought. Both Vilkas and Farkas had been forced to transform. He couldn't very well tell the jarl there was a pack of werewolves inside his Hold capital, though. "It tossed aside my comrades after a while. Farkas broke a greatsword on it, Skyforge-steel if you can believe it. Luckily he had other weapons that served him better. In the end, the game was decided when Vilkas chopped off its tail with his battleaxe."

"I imagine the dragon was furious?" said Irileth.

"Absolutely, but it lost its focus. Became feral, almost. Didn't feel me jump on its back and make my way to the head. Imagine the surprise when I boiled its eyes with a breath at spitting distance and then bludgeoned its skull with my mace until it caved in. Good riddance. Clawed me twice, tailed me once, and almost bit my arm off." In the end, even his ebony armor was cracked and battered. He had to ditch the armor and transform in order to finish the fight.

Irileth seemed suitably entertained by the story, enough to allow him to bed her for the night. Tavius wanted to stop by Jorrvaskr but that would have to be put on hold.

* * *

"Halt, strangers."

Athis, Lydia, and Tavius stopped. Tavius was confused; his group certainly did not look like bandits. Granted Athis as a Dunmer would look rather shifty to the local Nords but still.

"There's an entrance fee to Riften. Pay up."

"We're not merchants," Lydia began to explain.

"It doesn't matter. It is the-"

"There is no entrance fee, is there?" said Tavius.

"What? I just told you, that-"

The Dragonborn put up a hand. "Please. I really don't care if you do this entrance fee gig on others, but you see, I bear word for your jarl from jarl Balgruuf. Furthermore…" Tavius selected a random tree near the walls, and shouted, "Iiz-slen!"

The tree was encased in ice in the blink of an eye, and Tavius's shield shattered the frozen tree as though it were made of glass.

"Dragonborn," the other guard gasped.

"Now, I'm usually not the kind to rat out people just trying to make a living. When they try to do so at my expense, I take exception. Do you want to be an exception?" Tavius didn't need to draw his weapons. He and his group were welcomed to Riften.

It smelled like fish, served with a side of corruption and mollified ever so slightly by mead.

"I'll find us lodgings, my thane," said Lydia.

"Don't get pickpocketed, or mugged, or cheated," Tavius warned as he and Athis headed towards the Black-Briars' manor, which the guards were kind enough to point out.

Tavius knocked, and entered after waiting for what seemed like a polite few seconds.

"And who might you be?" a man in the fanciest clothes Tavius had ever seen in his life, including the court at Solitude, asked.

"Don't be an idiot!" a more pragmatically dressed and older woman snapped. "Only one person in all of Skyrim is known to use dragonbone in his armor."

"Maven Black-Briar, I presume?" Tavius asked.

"You assume correctly," Maven glanced at her sides. "My son, Hemming, and my daughter, Ingun."

"Tavius Jenkins. This is my shield-brother, Athis."

"Oh, my. Companions?" Ingun blocked her mouth, as though she should not have spoken out of turn.

"My daughter means little by it. Just that we see such warriors rarely at Riften," said Maven.

When Stormcloak victory was secured, Tavius intended to bash in Maven's skull. He didn't care what she did with the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild, but cooperation with the Thalmor was a death sentence for an influential citizen such as she. For now, though, necessity made for strange bed-fellows.

"Will you join us for lunch?" Maven offered.

"My jarl considers this matter to be highest priority," Tavius handed over Balgruuf's letter without further ado. "If you accept, we wish to be on our way."

Maven's lips curled at the contents of the letter. "Yes… these blood-sucking pests have been getting more annoying as of late. I understand even one of the Thieves Guild was turned recently. He was hunted down and killed. Or, so the rumors say."

It was obvious from her tone that she knew perfectly well what had happened to the vampire.

"But, mister Jenkins… or may I call you Tavius?"

"It's a free country."

"Tavius, isn't the dragon threat a more pressing matter?"

"It is," Tavius allowed. "But unless you have an Elder Scroll in your cellar, the dragon threat isn't going to be handled any time soon."

"In my cellar? Why, not even I can claim to have an Elder Scroll in my cellar. I gather that you are looking for one?"

"Be obliged if you know anything about its whereabouts," Tavius thought he might be convinced to spare her the torture the Thalmor put Talos worshippers through if she told him where the Scroll was.

"For the favor of the Dragonborn? I'll see if my contacts know anything."

"About the letter," Tavius began.

"Personally, I'm all for cheaper Black-Briar mead in Whiterun," said Athis.

"He speaks for all the Companions," Tavius chuckled.

"I'll take it, for the time being. I'm not sure what he's implying about my connections, of course, but gold will always find a way," again, Maven spoke while giving the impression that Balgruuf knew perfectly well what connections she had.

She was a detestable woman. Even if she found the Scroll by herself and gave it to him for free, Tavius was determined to make her suffer the same things Talos worshippers suffered at the hands of the Thalmor.

"So… I have your full support in the Rift?" Tavius inquired.

"As far as the civilized places go," Maven agreed.

"In other words, only in safe places," Athis growled.

"I never had pretensions of honor, Companion. That's for you people."

"This thief you're lending us, though. I need him or her to be able to follow me into the wilds."

"Thieves need to get their hands dirty sometimes, too. Would you prefer a Dark Brotherhood assassin?"

"No. Our skill sets would be too similar. The thief can leave all the fighting to me and my companions."

"Although it'd be good if he can handle himself," Athis hastened to add.

"I'm sure I can find someone suitable to your needs."

* * *

"Could they have chosen a more inconvenient place to build a fort?" Tavius grimaced as he cut down another troll. While Skyrim wasn't particularly safe at the best of times, the way to Fort Dawnguard was teeming with wildlife. Skyrim wildlife tended to be more dangerous than the garden variety near Cyrodiil.

"All clear!" Athis called out from ahead. Exactly what was so clear when a troll jumped out of a cave to ambush him, Tavius couldn't say. If Athis were an Altmer, Tavius would have killed him. As a Dunmer, and the realities of being unable to investigate every cave along the way, Athis was forgiven.

"Good job as always, Lydia," Tavius said. "Want a trophy?"

"We don't have the time to skin a bear," the housecarl shook her head.

"Take the bear gallbladder and liver, at least. The Khajit eat them up like candy," Tavius tossed her a Dwemer knife. He liked Dwemer materials. For elves, they knew how to make things sturdy, and he raided their cities regularly enough to have a good amount of their metal. Most of the people he took on his adventures were armed with Dwemer weapons and armor. It was technically illegal, of course, since all Dwemer artifacts belonged to the Emperor by law, but he was going to kill the Emperor.

Other than Dwemer artifacts, Breezehome was mostly full of glass armor and weapons. Whenever he stumbled on a Thalmor formation, he transformed, slaughtered them all, feasted on their hearts, and then took their gear. If Tavius thanked the Thalmor for anything, it was for the riches their freshly dead agents gave him. He convinced Eorlund to sharpen the weapons and strengthen the armor whenever he wasn't busy, and that proved to be a good investment whenever he sold to other blacksmiths in Skyrim. The civil war created a huge demand for the smithies.

"Are you going to help?"

"Eww, no. I don't want its nasty intestines all over my armor."

Lydia nevertheless allowed all the nasty intestines all over her armor. Sometimes, Tavius thought that Lydia's loyalty bordered on affection more than loyalty to a thane. He considered her fine figure in tailor-made Dwemer armor. He would've tried had she not been his housecarl. Those kinds of feelings always complicated professional relationships, though.

"Anything happen while I was gone?"

"Not really," Tavius replied. Brynjolf was a tolerable presence, considering he was the second in command of the Thieves' Guild. While he was professionally efficient at hiding himself and masking his presence, Tavius's werewolf senses gave him a keen nose. Lydia smelled like warm hearthfire and freshly baked steel ingots, a smell that drove him mad with lust after particularly intense fights. Athis, and most Dunmer Tavius had met, smelled like ash, closely resembling a fire atronarch's smell, perhaps something to do with daedra worship and the Curse of Azura. Tavius liked to think Athis smelled a little differently from other Dunmer though, having an excess of honor as a Companion, sort of like Irileth. Brynjolf smelled like wet leather, lockpicks, gold, and a curious tinge of honor that Tavius did not expect to smell in a thief. "Find any leeches up ahead?"

"Nope. This Dawnguard appears to be a legitimate force in its own right. Vampires know to stay away. The fort's entrance is right over that hill, actually."

"Remind me of your orders from Maven?"

"I don't know who this Maven is you're speaking of. I'm acting under orders from my guildmaster."

"Same thing, isn't it?"

"Not at all. Maven Black-Briar is an upstanding citizen of the Rift: a shrewd businesswoman and a generous patron to the citizens of Riften," Tavius laughed. Brynjolf's words were dripping irony and sarcasm.

Still, while the Dragonborn had been invited to join the Thieves' Guild, Brynjolf could hardly state explicitly to none-guild members that Maven was the Thieves' Guild's most important patron.

"My orders, from my guildmaster you understand, are to assist you in any way including but not limited to lockpicking, pickpocketing, tracking, investigating, and even fighting so that you can find this master vampire's layer and chop his head off."

"So you're still skeptical about this master vampire theory?"

"They might have some sort of a government, but vampires ultimately respect strength, lad. A single leader will forever be challenged by upstarts."

"You sound like you've witnessed such things."

Brynjolf shrugged, but Tavius caught a whiff of sorrow emanating from him.

"Hoy there!" the Orsimer that had given him the pamphlet at Markarth greeted him. He carried a strange contraption that looked like the Dwemer ballista, but on a portable scale.

"Hey," Tavius greeted back. "What's that you got there?"

The Orsimer was confused for a moment, and then realized Tavius was talking about the weapon in his hands. "Ah, this here is a crossbow."

"Is it any good?"

"A little slower to fire than bows but packs a meaner punch. I'm Durak," the Orsimer offered his hand.

Tavius took it, "Tavius. We met in Markarth." Of all the mer, Tavius preferred Orsimer. They were daedra worshiping lunatics, but they were straightforward and in their own way honorable, unlike the Bosmer or worse, Altmer. Indeed, they could be considered a step above Bretons, who might as well be mer.

"You're here to join our merry band, then?"

"Aye. This vampire business is getting serious of late. I'd swear they're getting stronger, too."

"You'll want to talk to Isran, then, right inside. Gotta keep watch but yell if you need anything."

"Thanks. Mind if I bring some people along?"

"As long as they're not vampires or daedra," he shrugged, briefly looking over Tavius's band. "Go on ahead. If you're interested in the crossbow, I can sell you one, and some steel bolts."

"They don't take normal arrows?"

"Nope. Different designs. I'll teach you all about it later."

"Friendly chap," Athis commented as they went up the stairs.

"Big one," Lydia agreed.

"I've always respected the Orsimer. Tough bastards up close. Need to use alteration spells to be on the safe side in melee against them. Shame none have joined the Companions."

"He's chieftain of a Stronghold," Brynjolf added.

"What's a chieftain of a Stronghold doing here?" Tavius snorted.

"Beats me, but you can't mistake a chieftain if you've seen enough of'em. Also, he's too well-dressed for an Orsimer. I've seen enough chieftains to know what I'm talking about?"

"Steal their underwear, do you?" Athis chuckled.

"Orsimer are great smiths. Always have some valuable weapons and armor, and in times like these... let's just say that it's the supplier's market."

The front gate to the fort was heavy, but nothing Tavius couldn't handle. Inside, he found two middle aged and bald men talking. They stopped as they noticed the new arrivals.

"Who're you?" the long-bearded one asked.

"Tavius, thane of Whiterun, looking for an Isran, or so Durak said."

"I'm Isran," the man made no motion to offer a hand. While Tavius didn't particularly care for social niceties, he guessed that Isran didn't care at all. "This is Tolan, one of the Vigilants. Welcome to Fort Dawnguard."

Tavius came within an inch of tearing Tolan's throat out, but managed to calm himself. At least the Vigilants hunted the more pressing threats against Skyrim. It wasn't their fault that they sometimes ran into Companion werewolves. Most of the Companions didn't know about the Circle, either.

There was Kodlak, of course, but that was his decision to make. As for Tavius, he didn't know whether he'd prefer Sovngarde or Hircine's eternal hunts.

"Nice to meetcha," Tavius managed to smile despite himself and shake the man's hand.

"So, do you come to join the Dawnguard?" said Isran. Tavius appreciated straightforwardness in business, so he was willing to overlook the man's gruffness.

"Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with my other duties, I'm happy to sign up to kill some leeches."

"What useful skills do you have?"

"Charging blindly into an enemy formation," Lydia muttered, the subject being a constant source of contention.

"I do not charge blindly," Tavius snapped. "I make sure I can kill'em all before I charge them."

"He's rich?" Athis offered.

"He's rich?" Brynjolf murmured to himself.

"Don't listen to these idiots," Tavius said, shooing them away. "It's true I'm better off than most people in Skyrim, though I'm not, say, Silver-Blood or Battleborn rich."

"Interesting armor. What materials? Bonemould?"

"Dragonbone plate. Are we still talking about useful skills?"

"Surprise me," Isran suggested.

"I'm an adequate enchanter, I know enough illusion and alteration magic to help myself. More importantly, I'm excellent heavy infantry material and I'm a Dragonborn."

"Oh? So you're the Dragonborn?"

"Not sure if I'm the only one, but most likely the one you're talking about," Tavius nodded.

"Good. I can use a brawler like you," Athis and Brynjolf sniggered at his reputation. "Welcome to the Dawnguard. Your friends joining?"

"No, they're going back to Whiterun and Riften after my assignment here. Do I get an assignment? Actually, I came with the understanding that the Dawnguard know a little more than most about what's going on with the recent vampire attacks."

"We know far more than a little more than most," Isran growled. "In fact, Tolan was telling me all about recent organized vampire activities. Know anything about a Dimhollow Crypt?"

"Small Nordic crypt, southwest of Dawnstar," Tolan explained. "The vampires are looking for an ancient artifact of some kind."

"By Talos, we have to deny them! That's the first rule of war. Give your enemies nothing."

"That's the spirit," Isran said, looking as though his respect for the Dragonborn went up a notch. "Do you have a standardized map of some sort?"

Tavius handed his over, and Isran drew a little sign of a cave, scribbling 'Dimhollow Crypt' next to it. He hated it when people with bad handwriting wrote on his map.

"That's your first assignment, then. Get to Dimhollow Crypt, kill every bloodsucker in there and the usual cretins besides, recover this artifact the vampires want, and return it here."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Traveling from Fort Dawnguard all the way to Dimhollow Crypt took near a week's worth of hard riding, whirlwind sprinting, and killing all the nasty beasties that wanted to eat him along the way, including but not limited to two dragons, a dozen trolls of various kinds, three saber cats, and an honest-to-God cannibal.

Along the way, Tavius dropped off Brynjolf in Riften, and the other two in Whiterun. While he usually preferred company, he didn't want to risk vampirism in his company. All the members of the Circle were too busy to help him out, with the Silver Hand in Skyrim growing bolder by the day. At least he slaughtered a known Silver Hand outpost on the way. If there was one good thing to be said about the Silver Hand, it was that they gave him rich loot and warm blood.

Tavius cast the spell Muffle, and tried to crawl along as stealthily as he could in the darkness of the cave. Leeches, in great enough numbers, could overcome a werewolf of his caliber, and he had no backup.

Not two minutes in, he discovered a gate and two vampires, and what looked like the cold, dead body of a Vigilant. The vampires were talking, and he moved forward to eavesdrop, but heard barking instead.

It was a Talos-damned bloodhound the vampires likes to use, and it had obviously scented him.

"Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeroy Jenkins!" Tavius shouted as he got up, drew his weapons, and charged. Building up downhill momentum, he kicked the dog out of his way, hundreds of kilos' worth of flesh and dragonbone plate armor lending him power.

A sword came at him, and Tavius did not bother to block it. Elvish weapons were hardly going to dent his plate armor when Eorlund had spent weeks perfecting it. The trick to using heavy armor was not to use it to evade, as with light armor. Heavy armor was meant to take hits. The real trick was to not get hit at the neck, in the face, in the eyeslits, and in the joints.

The vampire, on the other hand, was lightly armored like most of his kind, and took a mace to the ribs. Tavius did not pause. The purpose of a charge was to build momentum and use it to smash aside all foes, disorienting them at the least. He continued on to the next vampire.

A nasty ice spear struck his shoulder. Magic was such a hindrance, especially to one as heavily armored as he. Even with the blessings of Ironflesh, the rewards of being an Agent of Mara, and the blessings of the Lord Stone, that one hurt. He needed to finish this vampire mage quickly, and with that thought in mind, he continued charging and barreled into the leech.

"Yol-toor-shul!" the vampire screamed as it burned up. Fire was not the friend of the living dead.

Tavius sprang up as quickly as is heavily armored form would allow, and doubled back to where the first vampire was. He was recovering, drinking from a bottle, no doubt full of blood. Despite his shattered ribs, he still screamed well enough when Tavius's axe set him on fire.

That left the bloodhound, and the cursed dog was hardly in the state to do damage to his plates. Not wanting to waste enchantment charges on the mongrel, Tavius squeezed at its throat until its windpipe was crushed.

All was silent in the cave, for the time being.

Tavius continued onward, picking through the dead bodies, random treasure chests, and burial urns, for salvageable or useful items on the way. Draugr, vampire, and giant spiders alike fell before his ferocity, though the two Draugr Deathlords towards the end were tricky. He might have had to transform had it not been for the vampires weakening them. The vampire fighting the giant spider was hilarious, too, and doubly so when they managed to kill each other without ever noticing Tavius.

The Dragonborn entered a chamber deeper into the cave, and he realized it housed a cavern big enough to be the main hall of a major Dwemer city. He was slightly taken aback at the gargoyle statues that greeted him.

He heard voices, and this time, he heard snippets of the conversation, just in time to hear the vampire kill the tortured Vigilant.

By all accounts, whatever the vampires wanted seemed to be at the center of the cavern with those strange silvery sticks of some sort, and it was quite obvious that the vampires down below were the last of their kind in the cave.

Tavius began to strip, stacking his armor and weapons on the ground next to his pack that contained all of the more valuable loot from the cave. He put all of that in an urn he would remember. Eventually, he was as naked as he was when he was born, except for one ring.

A hulking werewolf, three times the size and bulk of normal men and stronger besides, replaced the human. It was glorious to feel the rush of adrenaline that accompanied the transformation, and he immediately zeroed in on the source of the stench that assailed his nose: that strong coppery scent but stronger than in normal men or mer.

The two vampires had time to shout. They even had time to cast a spell, but the icy spears missed the fast-moving engine of destruction. A gargoyle was summoned, but it was barreled aside by the sheer momentum of the living avatar of the Hunt that pounced at its creator, ripping out its throat with one smooth motion. With its creator dead, the gargoyle ceased to function.

The other vampire panicked, and tried to run. That was a mistake. Predators were hard-wired to chase whatever creatures that fled them. The vampire was run down, and torn apart as sport by a bored werewolf with no enemies left.

The werewolf howled into the dim cavern, challenging any foes to come and declaring his victory. The vampires' flesh was unpalatable for the werewolf, but their blood was richer than the average mortal's, and that sated the werewolf's bloodlust for a while.

* * *

Having completely regained his senses, Tavius returned to the urn where he placed his belongings and dressed lightly. He doubted that the vampires would send reinforcements so soon and the Draugr he had sensed with the illusion school's detection spells were far away.

Enough time to solve this strange puzzle, and enough time to read the Vigilant's notes about Dimhollow Crypt. The notes explained why the Crypt was so lacking in traditional Nordic traps that Tavius rather enjoyed. They were far less lethal than Dwemer traps were.

Tavius shoved the last of the silvery candlestick things into position, and the purple light flared up on top, too. With puzzles, guessing randomly after checking for traps was the standard response when no hints were given. It seemed to work in this instance just as well as it had the other times.

He approached the pedestal-like object at the center, and pressed the button.

It wasn't a button, and a spike punched out.

"Fracking cum-guzzling shit-whore!" Tavius groaned, and healed himself while rummaging through his pack for an appropriate healing potion. If the architect of this shithole was alive, he was going to kill him.

Meanwhile, something bigger arose along with the pedestal. Drinking the first healing potion that came in his reach, Tavius pressed another button, hoping it didn't stab him in the heart or something.

A panel slid down, revealing a woman. Naturally, Tavius's eyes were drawn to the breasts first, but there were arms folded over them and he quickly lost interest. His eyes focused on the knife at her side instead, and his right hand quickly fished that away. It was of Dwemer make, though he was reasonably certain that the woman was human.

The woman stumbled forth, and his hands were too occupied to stop her. She caught herself before she hit the ground, though, and there was a strange object on her back. Someone was obviously overcompensating with that phallic symbol, and it reminded Tavius that he hadn't been serviced by a woman for weeks.

As the woman stood up, Tavius was able to admire her figure. He didn't know if it was his involuntary abstinence but the desire to hurl her on the ground and rape her was overpowering. He chalked it up to the aftereffects of the transformation. Hircine's 'gift' was also a curse in some ways. Tavius would not rape a woman who didn't deserve it, Elenwen for instance. By Talos was he going to turn the fracking cunt inside out with his phallic symbol after the inevitable Stormcloak victory in Skyrim. She'd be sent back to wherever high elves came from, as a message.

"Erm... who are you? Who sent you here?" the woman asked, and the voice was pleasant enough for a woman who had been trapped inside a stone coffin until not a moment ago.

"No one sent me here," Tavius rolled his eyes, but still couldn't distract himself from the woman's body. He'd have to get back to civilization, and quickly. "More importantly, it seems like you've been trapped in that, er... thing. Do you want some food?" Tavius rummaged in his pack and produced an apple and a wineskin.

"No, thank you," the woman still seemed to be wary of him. He didn't blame her. Not twenty seconds ago, he had been seriously considering rape, and this was a lonely cavern in the middle of nowhere. "Did my father send you?"

"Woman, you've been trapped inside that thing for Talos knows how long, so I'm willing to be patient, but I have not a bloody idea who you are. Do you know why you were locked away like this? How long have you been locked inside?"

"It's... a complicated story," the woman lowered her head. Tavius guessed any woman would be shy alone in a large cavern with a strange man, so he allowed it. "If you want to know, could you escort me back to my family's house?"

"Where's your house?"

"An island to the west of Solitude."

"How far to the west of Solitude?"

"A day at the most."

That was a fine proposition. He had business in Solitude. "Is your family rich?"

"I... suppose so? Why do you ask?"

"I'm a mercenary. I get paid for protection."

"You'll be paid handsomely, have no fear. My name is Serana, by the way."

"Tavius," he nodded, and offered his hand.

The woman did not take his hand, which was also fair enough.

"What's that thing on your back?"

"An Elder Scroll," she murmured.

"What?! How in Oblivion do you have an Elder Scroll?"

Something of Tavius's desire must have shown, because the woman backed away. "It's a family heirloom, and it's mine."

"... Fair enough. Would I be able to take a look at it after delivering you to your home?"

"I suppose?"

"Good. I'll deliver you safe and sound to your home, then. Your family must be outrageously rich to have an Elder Scroll as an heirloom."

"Thank you."

"Any clue on this place? Do you know the way out?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she shrugged.

"Ah, they blindfolded you, huh? Figures. Filthy vampires. You're safe now, don't worry. I must've killed a nest's worth of them."

While the tone and the words were calculated to be reassuring, the effects they seemed to have on Serana was anything but. It was curious. Tavius decided to risk smelling her.

He only picked up the scent of the vampires he had recently slaughtered. The woman did not have a scent.

Confused, Tavius sniffed again, again, he smelled nothing.

"What're you doing?" Serana asked, her gaze still lowered on the ground.

Tavius's right arm snapped out to grab Serana's chin. Startled, Serana could not do anything about it.

The Dragonborn snarled, realizing now why he could smell nothing but vampire. Indeed, the coppery tang of vampire blood was stronger in her than any he had smelled before.

"Vampire..." Tavius growled.

"Wait. I am an unarmed woman who just woke up after who knows how many years of captivity. I am no threat to you."

"You're not a woman, you're a vampire, filth, leech, parasite. Offer your prayers to whatever deity you have, because you're about to die. Fus-ro-dah!"

The shout hurled Serana across the circle, smashing her into the railings.

It would take Tavius too long to change into his heavy armor, but that did not matter. He would kill the vampire in a more personal manner.

The Ring of Hircine shone in his hands as he transformed once more.


	2. Nightmares

Tavius woke up, and as usual, his head hurt like the pits of Oblivion. Skjor had told him that people got used to it the more they transformed. But then, one had to wonder about how reliable a man who got himself killed in one mad rush of bloodlust could be. Not that he didn't mourn the old codger, but Tavius knew that werewolf transformations had definite limits. It was almost impossible to retreat from battle as a werewolf when the blood called to him.

"You're awake, princess?"

The Dragonborn opened his eyes, and found himself on the ground, naked. That much was to be expected. That was why Companions always traveled in groups. During the transformation and right after it, werewolves were vulnerable.

What he didn't count on was the face of one who should be dead, and in her right hand, a Dwemer blade aimed at his throat.

"Impossible," the Dragonborn snarled.

"You must mean 'improbable'. I am a child of darkness, much as you are, werewolf," Serana gestured at the railings around the ritual circle's platform. "But a werewolf's nose becomes useless when the prey jumps in the water, and the duration of his transformation short without fresh meat."

Tavius cursed his idiocy. He ought to have pretended to get along with the bloodsucker and kill her in her sleep or something. He ought to have been more aware of his surroundings.

"I am ready for Sovngarde, leech," Tavius closed his eyes and took a deep breath, praying that he was worthy. "Finish it."

The blow didn't come, and Tavius peeked out of an eye.

"No," the bloodsucker said.

"… Has your time in an underground prison robbed you of a mind? I am your enemy. I mean, it can't be that you never killed before."

"No, it's out of common interest," Serana pointed at the statues of the gargoyles.

"What about them?"

"They're gargoyles!" Serana hissed.

"Your point being?"

"You've never fought gargoyles before?" the vampire realized, incredulous.

"They're statues!" Tavius chuckled despite the situation. "Afraid of a little masonry? No wonder bloodsuckers-"

"They're real!" the vampire insisted. "Unbelievable! What did you do to get past all the gargoyles on the way here?"

"There were two," Tavius raised an eyebrow. "And they did nothing because they are masonry. Now, I'd rather die than listen another minute to a crazy vampire, so would you please get this over with?"

"I am not crazy!" Serana screamed in frustration. "But I'm alone, surrounded by Draugr and gargoyles and the gods know what else, and I am not enough of a warrior or a mage to get through them."

"You want me to fight for you?" Tavius almost gagged in revulsion at the thought.

"Wouldn't that be better than death?"

"Death would be preferable," Tavius answered, and cursed at his seeming inability to control the shit he spew out of his mouth. There seemed to be a disconnection between his brains and his mouth.

"What kind of nonsensical shiite is that?!"

"What's 'shiite'? And by the Divines what the hell is wrong with your accent? That's really all I want to know before I go to Sovngarde."

"Sovngarde be damned. Not everyone makes it to Sovngarde you dimwit!"

"Those pure in faith and deed will be rewarded," Tavius shrugged. "If you won't kill me, free me."

"Will you promise not to attack me?"

"I'm a Companion. I don't make deals with abominations."

"But I spared your life!"

Tavius considered the implications of that statement. "That's true."

"Then don't you owe me something?"

"Kind of a grey area… maybe? If you were human or even an elf, that'd be true, but you're sparing me to have a bodyguard and you're a vampire."

"It's not like I drank your blood!"

"And now you'll tell me how you're the victim?" Tavius laughed. "Seriously, kill me first."

"If I let you get up, will you at least think about a truce until we get out of here?"

"I'm considering it, though I still think you're crazy."

The blade withdrew from his throat, and Tavius got up, stretching. The plunge in adrenalin after the transformation made his head hurt.

"I realize I might sound crazy, but what era is this?"

"What do you mean 'what era is this'? How long have you been imprisoned?"

"I have no idea. That's why I'm asking you."

"Erm… I'm no scholar but this is the third century of the fourth era. You must have heard of the Oblivion Crisis?"

Serana's face showed no signs of understanding. Despite wanting to kill her, Tavius was curious as to how old this relic was.

"Talos, or Tiber Septim?" still there was no sign of recognition. "How about Harald?"

"King of Skyrim," Serana seemed more reassured now.

"… If he was your king, you've been sleeping for dozens of centuries, then. Then that must mean… you're one of the first vampires," Tavius growled. "It would be an honor to kill you."

"He was not. I was imprisoned after the successful rebellion of Alessia," Serana's eyes narrowed. "You're a Dragonborn, aren't you?"

"I am."

"A Dragonborn serving Hircine. These must be interesting times."

"I don't serve Hircine," Tavius grunted. "I merely use his powers. These are interesting times. Alduin has returned."

"That's impossible."

"You must mean improbable," Tavius sniggered. "I've fought Alduin myself. He is very real and alive, and I am looking for an Elder Scroll that contains the shout I need to defeat him."

"... I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"None of your business. Would you mind bringing me up to date with the bigger events? I'm feeling lost."

"You will find no sympathy from me, leech."

"Consider it a small first step in repaying your debt to me."

Though Tavius was loath to do a vampire any favors, it was true that there were some mildly acceptable forms of vampires: Jarl Elisif's court mage for instance, whom he stalked for a week before concluding that she was no threat to humanity. It was also true that he did owe Serana a debt: not as much as a life debt since she spared her out of her own self-interest but still.

"Very well," Tavius conceded. "Alessia was successful, yes, and an Empire had been created of Cyrodiilic origins. Akatosh had promised to close the gates of Oblivion as long as those of her line rule."

"Good."

"You pretend to care about humanity?" Tavius scoffed.

"Any shepherdess would care about her flock, and I was once human."

The Dragonborn rolled his eyes, but continued. "How altruistic. Anyhow, a man named Tiber Septim united all men and created an Empire out of Tamriel using Numidia, and was heralded as the ninth Divine upon his death."

"What kind of nonsense is that?" Serana chuckled.

"Talos is a very real god, leech, and I might lose my temper if you continue insulting Him."

"… You're serious?"

"Deadly serious. Anyhow, the Oblivion Crisis occurs and nearly ends the world but for the intervention of the Hero of Kvatch and Martin Septim. Mehrunes Dagon is banished from our realm and the Empire saved… although the Septim bloodline is extinguished. The Red Mountain explodes, and scatters the Dunmer. Speaking of elves, the Snow elves and the Dwemer are extinct, or near enough so that it doesn't matter."

"The Dwemer are extinct?!"

"Seems impossible but yes. Anyhow, the Thalmor now control the elves in the Summerset Isles and Valenwood, now called the Aldmeri Dominion, and have won the recent war against the Cyrodiilic empire. They want to end Talos worship as part of the peace treaty, which is why I am going to kill them all."

"Seems to be going pretty far for a man."

"Man-god, maybe, but certainly not just a man."

Serana decided to end that line of conversation, noting the fanatic's twitching eyebrows. "So be it. Will you at least help me escape this place?"

"I will concede to whatever reasonable requests you have, until such time comes that I consider my debt repaid."

"I would ask you to accompany me to my home," Serana gestured at the corpses of her kind. "Since you seem to have killed my escorts."

"I accept, with two conditions. Although, I have business in Dawnstar first if you don't mind. We can take a boat from there to Solitude. My second is that you never drink from another human or even Mer in my company."

"How long will your business in Dawnstar take?"

"Who knows? I've been summoned by the jarl over some matter of nightmares in the whole city. Daedric influences, no doubt, but could be a skilled sorcerer."

Serana's eyes narrowed. "You want me to die fighting while fighting the Daedra."

"Someone has to consider giving you a chance at Sovngarde," the Dragonborn shrugged. "Besides, how else do you propose you'll get home? Nearly everyone in Skyrim will attack you as soon as they see the red eyes. With me, they'll at least give you a chance to explain."

* * *

Tavius armored himself, and soon after found out that the gargoyles were very real and annoyingly healthy creatures.

Even more annoying: the leech was a competent combatant. Given the fact that her sword was neither enchanted nor enhanced by a masterful blacksmith, her swordsmanship was nearly masterful. While Tavius was confident in his skills with the war axe or the mace, those weapons were by their very nature slower than the sword. If he were given a sword, he could not match her.

The magic he was less worried about. With the blessings of the Lord Stone and the perks of being an agent of Mara, he was certain he could tank the ice spears Serana produced. Everything would be decided in the melee, anyways.

"I told you gargoyles were real," Serana gasped, catching her breath.

"They died easily enough," Tavius sneered, though he was bluffing. The damned creatures were on par with Dwemer Centurions."

"What is your armor made of?"

"The bones of recently slaughtered dragons," Tavius shrugged. "Being the only Dragonborn of this era, I kind of have a near-monopoly."

"But your weapons are made of ebony."

"Dragon bones are tougher. Two war axes are being enchanted at Markarth. I expect they'll be ready soon enough. Do you always go unarmored?"

"I prefer light armor. I'd probably collapse if I were clothed in dragon bones."

"It's really kind of you to stroke my male ego," Tavius chuckled as he found a lever that opened the gate to the next chamber.

"I only had, oh… two centuries practice at it?"

"Two centuries of leeching and parasiting," Tavius shivered. "Talos knows why I'm not killing you right now."

"You'd never catch me."

Tavius cast the spell to detect life: none were to be found. His spell to detect undeath, on the other hand, showed him a dozen skeletons and Draugr. Plus the one leech by his side.

"A dozen skeletons and Draugr in the next chamber," he said, casting ebony flesh and courage.

"Let's sneak-"

"Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeroy Jenkins!"

Serana stared dumbstruck at the Dragonborn's back.

The Draugr and the skeletons were on chairs. He didn't know why, but people who made dungeons liked to provide them comfort. Tavius smashed in the skulls of four skeletons as they got up. He couldn't remember the last time skeletons gave him any trouble.

There was that one time with hundreds of the things clawing at his feet in the marshes of Dawnstar, but Tavius thought that shouldn't count.

"Fus-ro-dah!" the Unrelenting Force caught three Draugr, and Tavius closed the distance to bash their skulls in before they recovered.

The same Shout caught him off guard.

"Who the frack did that?" Tavius grumbled as he got up.

Two Draugr Deathlords came at him, ebony weapons swinging. That explained why the Shout was stronger than he'd expected.

Still, only two Draugr Deathlords was good news for him. It had the potential to be somewhat challenging but not life-threateningly so, especially in his enchanted dragon bone armor. Their ebony armors and weapons sold well anywhere.

Tavius's face fell when Serana appeared out of nowhere to stab one in the back. Annoyed, he still caught the blow from the other one's greatsword on his war axe, and spun around to crash his mace in the undead's face.

"Nice work," he admitted, with a great deal of grudging and mumbling. Serana had managed to slip her sword through a vulnerability around the shoulder and into the thing's spine, leaving the armor undamaged.

"Wuld-nah-kest!" Tavius's Shout took him to the other side of the cylindrical chamber. Sheer momentum crushed two of the skeletons in his way.

An ice spear penetrated his shoulder, making his muscles numb a little. Still, the Draugr responsible for it died quickly enough when its right arm was chopped off and its face bashed in. Its companion, a lower form of Draugr that Tavius never learnt the proper name of, died trying to shield it.

One Draugr was left. Tavius disliked fighting skeevers and spiders because they were gross. He disliked the Draugr because they could show no fear. Even the lowliest of Aldmeri soldiers showed fear when he slaughtered them.

Its head was neatly severed by the Dwemer blade in the vampire's hand.

"Killstealer," he growled.

"Seriously?" the vampire raised an eyebrow.

"You're the closest thing to a damsel in distress here. Granted, a bloodsucking monstrosity for a damsel, but still a damsel," the Dragonborn grunted. "If there's a dragon or some kind of a threat close enough to a dragon, you should help me whenever possible. If it's something I can handle, please leave it alone."

"How do I know whether or not you need help?"

"I'll tell you if I need help."

"Somehow, I doubt you would. Besides, how am I to know if you know you have things under control? I'd rather not risk my life over such childishness, thank you."

Tavius approached the Word Wall, still petulant. The influx of power from the Wall added considerably to his mood, though. He had no idea what the Shout was but he was eager to learn it as soon as he hunted down his next dragon.

The lever was lowered, and the gate to the next chamber was opened.

"Wuld-nah-kest!" Tavius Shouted, and all Draugr in the chamber noted his presence.

"Cum-guzzling, Daedra-worshipping cunt," he snarled as he lay into the Deathlord first, not intending to let it draw its weapon. His war axe caught the dragon-worshipper in the neck. He couldn't decide what was worse: dragon-worshipper or vampire. He thought he ought to visit the College some time in the near future. He was a decent illusionist, but not at the level to affect Draugr and Daedra yet.

The Thalmor wizards were difficult to handle in numbers, as he had experienced at the embassy.

Tavius wanted to Shout, but even he could not Shout so quickly after using the Whirlwind Sprint. He settled on throwing his war axe at the other Draugr Deathlord instead. He didn't pause to see if it had hit, because that was a luxury reserved for archery.

His mace was blocked by a Draugr, to his surprise. He resolved to kick it in the knees, instead, his own mass and his armor's mass giving him the momentum he needed to snap it inwards. He punched it in the back, a little below the neck where it wasn't armored. The spine came out with satisfying ease.

"Come on you anal rapists! I'm Tavius Jenkins, champion of Talos and enemy of Alduin! Come and die!"

The Draugr needed no motivation to oblige, but he could've sworn that they moved a little quicker after he mentioned that he was Alduin's enemy.

"Fracking child molesters!" Tavius screamed as he fended off three Draugr. "Arsehole lickers! Tentacle rapists!"

It was only after nothing in the chamber moved that Tavius realized that he was even more angry and frustrated than was usual.

"_By Talos, I need to get laid_," he thought.

Unfortunately, the closest equivalent of a warm and healthy female in the vicinity was a vampire of all things. A vampire with a gods damned Elder Scroll. He was going to get the bloodsucker to her home, for honor was honor. Afterwards, though, he was going to bring the Dawnguard and the Companions bearing down on their hidey hole.

"I could hear you the whole way."

The Dragonborn turned to face the vampire, who was, to his eternal shame, so lovely that it was taking a great deal of concentration not to rape her, kill her, take the Elder Scroll, and dump the body. That wouldn't be good for his honor at all, though the wolf within him was screaming at him to do all that. The wolf was silenced when Tavius asked it whether it knew if vampires could drain the blood out of a raging erection.

"Your point being?"

"That Draugr don't understand you, but you clearly care nothing about that."

"Catch," he grunted as he hurled the Deathlord's ebony blade at her.

Unfortunately, she caught it with good grace. Tavius reasoned that the breasts distracted him. To his everlasting shame, even Altmer breasts distracted him. It didn't stop him from mutilating Thalmor corpses, but still.

Even the mere mention of the Thalmor brought him fresh headaches. Elenwen was not five feet from him when he had recovered his weapons and armor at the Thalmor embassy. If he had not been worried about collateral damage, for there were lots of Nords that the bitch managed to rope into her party, he would have charged. He had to settle for burning half of the embassy instead.

"A present? How unexpectedly gentlemanly," the leech smirked.

"A loan, so you can stab my back more competently when the time comes," he snarled. "We're almost out."

"And you know this how?"

"I smell honest cold, untouched snow, and pines: the smell of Skyrim," as opposed to the stench of dank death in the cavern. He would never admit that the rich tang of copper emanating from her was strangely arousing, though he should be disgusted by it.

That the vampire was operating on what blood he had spilt at the altar was galling.

"Trouble?" Serana pointed at the chest he was trying to open.

"No problem," he grunted, putting everything into the swing of his war axe. As expected, the old chest of ancient Nordic design could not withstand the ebony driven by the timely application of the first word of the Unrelenting Force shout. It took a few more seconds to rip the chest apart.

"Mer armor," Serana hissed.

"Oh?"

"In the early era, the Mer enslaved and slaughtered my people."

"I object to 'my people' but it's good to know you have the proper hatred for the Mer." Tavius inspected the set of armor while stowing away the weapons, the jewels, the potions, and the gold in his pack. He decided to put the armor in as well, while tossing the greaves and the gauntlets at her. The annoying woman had, unfortunately, kept her quick reflexes. Just once, he would have liked to see something he threw smash in her face.

Tavius cast the detection spells, but found no other signs of life or undeath. Sighing, he cast candlelight and seared his armor with fire.

"What are you doing that for?"

"As much as I enjoy Skyrim, it wouldn't do to die from the cold."

"Oh! I see the exit!"

To Tavius's regret, it was already night. There was enough light from the moon, though, to illuminate the snow and the primordial forest.

"Too late to travel," Tavius grimaced. Even with horses, it would take at least two days of hard riding to reach Dawnstar. "We'll camp in front of Dimhollow Crypt, where I tied up my horse. Can't carry all this loot without the horse. Might do some good to pick through the bodies I left behind for more loot, too."

Serana said nothing, and Tavius, curious, turned to see what she was up to. Her face was lit up with the kind of serene bliss he usually associated with climaxing.

"What? You find the cold agreeable to your dead heart?"

"… All our mutual enmity aside, I thank you for this breath of fresh air."

"Well, I didn't do it for your benefit," Tavius snapped. "If you want to thank me, help me pick through the corpses on the way back."

Watching Serana muse, he added, "No leeching."

* * *

Even accompanied by a pesky bloodsucker, Tavius was in a tolerable mood. It was the first time he'd been to Dawnstar, and the place was colder than a vampire's near-dead heart, but he thought he could come to like the place.

The vast sum of gold he'd been paid for the armor and weapons he had salvaged from Dimhollow Crypt helped. Tavius tried to sell weapons and armor in Stormcloak territory as often as possible, but had been confined to Imperial territory for the most part since he'd arrived in Skyrim. He doubted it would make a difference, though. Most Nordic weapons were melted down to provide raw materials for more weapons and armor, and the orders for weapons and armor were full anyways. The glass armor and weaponry he sold reinforced the notion of Thalmor fallibility in Skyrim. The Dwemer and Orsimer material he kept for himself, only to sell them to Stormcloak camps in Whiterun through the Gray-Manes.

He found the priest of Mara easily enough at the local inn, and promised to meet up at Nightcaller Temple.

"Can we get inside? The sun isn't good for my skin, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, Your Highness," he rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you can do mining work? I mean, you hardly seem the type."

Because of the bloodsucker's preference for operating at night, Tavius shad promised to meet Erandur at night.

"_And with any luck, a Daedric Prince will get rid of this leech_," Tavius thought to himself.

The problem was that the leech was becoming a mildly tolerable presence.

Other than the occasional quip about the sun, she was a competent warrior and conjurer. She required no upkeep other than to drain the blood of the animals he hunted with fireballs (all the easier to cook and hunt at the same time). Best of all, she didn't ask for a share of the bounty or the loot.

The Quicksilver Mine was a good distraction. As a werewolf, Tavius gained little rest from sleeping. Action was more restful, and it was his luck that the city had two functioning mines close by. He loved the feeling of full coin purses. And he needed all the coin he could get his grubby hands on if he were to lead the Stormcloaks to victory.

"Su-grah!" he Shouted, heedless of the alarm it caused the miners. Actually, the less the other miners mined, the better. He'd be paid more.

"Is it really necessary to Shout for mining?" Serana chuckled as she took her pickaxe to the Quicksilver vein next to his.

"I'll repeat as often as is necessary." As he had expected, the vampire wasn't exactly cut out for heavy physical labor. Still, the abomination was trying to earn her keep. He didn't know whether to be disgusted or mildly touched.

"So… this 'family' of yours. Do you mean a coven of vampires or do you mean actual flesh and blood relatives?" Tavius murmured so that the miners couldn't hear him.

"My parents."

"You don't sound too keen for reunion."

"How perceptive of you. Is there a sensitive and caring man beneath that wolf, I wonder?"

"Pfft. Were ancient Nords so keen on sarcasm?"

"No, but they were desperate times. Coming over from the old continent, to the north of Tamriel, we didn't know if we would ever be free of the Mer."

"Humanity fought back, and won," Tavius shrugged.

"Still, those were times of genocide. I can tell this is not one such era," the vampire glanced in the direction of the two Dunmer miners.

"Dunmer. They're tolerably honorable enough most of the times. It's the wood elves and the high elves you have to watch out for."

"I thought the Khajit were allies of the Aldmeri Dominion as well."

"But they're so cute!" Tavius protested, causing Serana to burst into laughter and nearly drop the pickaxe on her foot. "Seriously, if the only thing that could top that is a race of humanoid dogs."

"You're a dog person are you?"

"You know how much of a dog person I am. Cats are cute, sure, but dogs and wolves have honor and loyalty. Can't say as much for most humans, even."

"Honor is very important to you, isn't it?"

"Honor, then gold, and then maybe a good fight."

"I'm glad I'm not doing this for nothing."

"I'll make a Talos-fearing mercenary Nord out of you yet," Tavius beamed, and only managed to scowl five seconds afterwards when he realized who he smiled in front of.

"I understand your prejudices."

"Oh? Do you understand it as a shepherdess understands the needs of her herd?" It offended his sensibilities to have a sworn enemy right next to him and honor-bound to protect her at the same time.

"No. I think I understood it when that dragon attacked us."

"Yes!"

"Huh?"

"A garnet. Happens every once in a while when you mine long enough. Think it should fetch about two hundred. You were saying?"

"Oh. Erm… anyways, to face a dragon. I think that was when I realized that how I see dragons must be how most humans see vampires."

"Except a lot less grand, a lot less fearsome, and considerably less honorable," Tavius nodded.

"When have I behaved in a dishonorable fashion?" she snapped.

"Your existence is a dishonor. That I was defeated by you is horrendous. That I have to protect you until you get home is appalling."

"And how is my need for blood any different from your bloodlust?"

Tavius rolled his eyes. "In my wolf form, men and Mer are natural preys. There is no dishonor in eating what you kill as a predator. Bloodsucking, on the other hand, is usually sneaky and addictive. I give my prey a fair chance to fight me. That they die and I live is natural selection. You don't give your prey a fair chance to fight you. That they die and you live is, well, cheating the natural order."

"Werewolves are the creations of Hircine, a Daedric Prince. You're going to call that natural? What makes werewolves any more natural than vampires?"

"From time immemorial, people borrowed powers from otherworldly sources. It is as natural as the sun rising from the east is."

"How convenient."

"Honor is about inconvenience, not convenience."

"You hate the Altmer on the basis that they borrow the powers of the Daedra."

"No, I hate them on the basis that they worship the Daedra."

"So do a lot of humans, the Dunmer, the-"

"Not the same in terms of scale. Besides, the Dunmer know which Daedra not to worship."

"The excuses just go on and on, don't they?"

"I don't expect a bloodsucker to understand."

"I don't expect a dog to understand."

* * *

"Ho Erandur," Tavius said, beating the snow off his greaves.

"Ho Dragonborn," Erandur's eyes narrowed, "and vampire."

"Hello to you, too."

"She's a bloodsucker, but hardly a Daedra worshipper. I'll vouch for her honor," the words made him gag but he could hardly leave Serana out of his sight. It helped that he rarely slept, but if he died in the attempt to banish Daedric influence from Dawnstar, he was not about to let a vampire older than Talos loose on Skyrim.

"Beyond this entrance is the temple, steeped in the madness of Vaermina. We need to execute this foray with speed-"

"Wuld!"

Tavius, carried by the momentum of the Shout, hurtled himself down the stairs. He saw a strange energy blocking the entrance to the lower levels, but something he understood happened.

Daedra worshippers and Orsimer shook off their sleep, induced by some kind of airborne toxin if he remembered correctly, and started to get up.

While Tavius was a fan of letting his prey prepare for battle, the same philosophy did not apply for Daedra worshippers. Uncorking the White Phial, he let the contents of the mystical bottle seep through his veins and drew his weapons.

"Leeeeeeeeeroy Jenkins!"

The seven Orsimer and Vaermina worshippers went down to the fury of his swings.

"That was the most reckless-"

"The way is blocked. Where to?"

"Hmph… the library. It should contain books that will show us how to get past it."

"The library it is, then," Tavius started up the stairs.

"Hold on, priest of Mara. How do you know so much about this temple that you even know there's a book in the library that'll help you?" Serana asked.

"Serana, he's a priest of Mara."

"And not, say, Vaermina?"

Tavius thought he smelled genuine surprise from Erandur, and turned to face him, and kill him dead if necessary.

"… To my shame, I used to be a priest of Vaermina."

"And how would I know you won't, hmm… relapse?"

"You do not."

"Ha! I like you, priest. I'll give you a quick death if ever you try to stab my back."

"Err… thank you?" Erandur opened the door to the library.

They emerged from the second floor of the library, but Tavius detected the groggy movement of the priests of Vaermina and the Orsimer.

He summoned a familiar, cast ebonyflesh and candlelight, and jumped into the fray.

"Talos!" he shouted as his weapons went for the more heavily armored and lethal in melee Orsimer. His familiar, a wolf as was fitting, dragged one that was about to stab him down to the ground. A quick stomp with the retractable dragon tooth on the back of his greaves finished him.

"Children of two septim whores and Daedra shit sucking scum! Your end is at hand!" Tavius bellowed his fury at the survivors of his initial assault even as he lay into them. "Know that you have the honor of dying at the hands of a Companion!"

While everyone's attention was on the Dragonborn, no one noticed the vampire who slipped in the back of the throng. Before Tavius even registered her presence, Serana cut through three priests of Vaermina with a knife.

"Yol-toor-shul!" Tavius Shouted, burning off the faces of those in the front rank.

The three survivors turned to flee, but found themselves confronting the vampire. She made short work of them.

"What book am I looking for, Priest?"

"I have it."

Tavius's attention went to the bodies of the dead. Serana was, if anything else, an able assistant at picking through dead bodies. That, and she found two Daedra hearts by the virtue of her keen nose for blood.

He needed four more Daedra hearts before he could upgrade his ebony wargear. They were devilishly hard to come by.

"Found it! We're looking for a potion that can get you to the Dreamtide!"

"Considering we're in Vaermina's temple, I don't think that would be safe, priest."

"Nonsense. It's limited to reliving the memories of a person. You'll be fine."

"You? I don't like where this is going…." Tavius found a chest, and proceeded to wreck it.

"It is the only way," the priest shrugged.

"Why not you?" Serana asked.

"Can't relive my own memories. Wouldn't work."

"If it weren't for a Hold capital being at stake, I would never acquiesce to this," Tavius muttered as he put down another stirring Orsimer. "What does this potion look like?"

"It's in that flask," Erandur pointed. Unfortunately, there were a dozen stirring Orsimer and Vaermina worshippers on the way.

"Yol-toor-shul!"

An Orsimer, still confused but having just watched three of his brethren get toasted alive, tackled Tavius from the side.

It was always a difficult proposition to take on an Orsimer in close quarters combat. That was why the standard procedure was to engage one from a distance.

The pommel of the Orsimer's sword rang against his head, disorienting Tavius.

"Are you alright?"

Tavius refocused, and realized that the Orsimer had a bad case of decapitation.

"Oh great. Now I've been saved by the same bloodsucker twice?"

"You can repay me by calling me Serana."

"Now I can't even call a leech a leech?

Tavius grunted as he pushed himself up. The Orsimer was strong, and his blow still left him slightly dazed. He saw that the survivors were distracted with each other as much as they were distracted by Serana and he, though.

He charged up a doublecasted fireball, and then charged into the frenzied confusion.

After a confusing but quick melee, Tavius found himself with no foes.

"Lee-"

"Serana," the vampire corrected. The grin was so smug that the temptation to rape her and then leave her dead in a ditch was overwhelming. Whether that was a product of genuine lust or extreme hate, as was the case of Thalmor ambassador Elenwen, he could not say.

"Serana," he acquiesced. "Please give me that potion."

"Are you sure? You could-"

"I'm this era's Dragonborn, and champion of Skyrim. I won't die in a Daedra-damned dream. Bottoms up," Tavius began gulping down the contents of the bottle before the priest of Mara could prattle on about safety and whatnot.

The experience of having one's consciousness implanted in an entirely different body, and one he was not in control of, was perhaps one of the most frustrating experiences of his life.

The gods-damned priest was criminally incompetent. He nearly died twice to clumsy Orsimer attacks, and almost caught a fireball casted by one of his own brethren once.

When he woke up, he was on the other side of the barrier.

"Thank you," Tavius picked up the soul gem, and charged his mace.

"That was amazing!" Erandur exclaimed. "It was-"

"Priest, Vaermina, madness?" not bothering to hear a reply, he charged down the stairs.

There were dozens of Orsimer and priests of Vaermina on the way, but they fought each other as often as they fought him. He was also prepared for a raid on a Daedric Prince's bastion, heavily armed and armored as well as having a surplus of potions he'd purchased from Dawnstar's apothecary.

To his glee, the vampire didn't manage a single kill or assist. He only waited long enough for them to rejoin him before his Whirlwind Sprint shouts took him out of their sight again.

"Son of a cum-guzzling whore!" he shouted as he kicked what appeared to be the Orsimer chieftain in the crotch. He was better armed than the others and had that look of a seasoned fighter. Already, he was in the throes of his bloodlust, and had injured Tavius several times despite the alteration magic that cloaked his flesh. Some of his blows even cracked the sturdy construction of his armor.

Even an Orsimer chieftain in his bloodlust couldn't ignore a kick to the crotch. He doubled forward, and was unprepared for the fingers that jabbed at his eyes.

Despite his aching body, the sight was refreshing. This was an unexpectedly good fight, too. Eorlund would scold his hide off, but this fight was worth it.

Warmth flooded his aching muscles as Serana cast healing spells on him.

"Thanks," he grunted.

"Did you really kill all of them on the way?"

"No, some of them killed each other," Tavius gulped down two healing potions, and finally he felt some semblance of normalcy in his body.

"Excellent work. Now for the skull."

"Skull?"

"Vaermina's artifact, causing the nightmares in Dawnstar," he explained. "I'll need you to protect me while I complete a ritual to destroy it."

"Is it a weapon?"

"A staff."

That was good to know. Tavius did not like staves.

As he opened the door to the inner sanctum, he saw two priests of Vaermina at the altar.

"Casimir!" one spat.

"I don't go by that name anymore," Erandur replied. "I'm now a priest of Mara."

"You traitor!" the other priest shouted.

"Time to die, child molesters," Tavius grinned. "Wuld!"

Tackling one of the priests and shattering his ribs, Tavius got up after caving his skull in for good measure. To his disappointment, the other had fallen as well.

"Hurry, priest," said Tavius.

To his further disappointment, he found the priest wracked by guilt and emotions. Some men just ought to grow vaginas and have done with it, in Tavius's opinion.

"Yes, yes, but you're a priest of Mara and they were priests of Vaermina. You knew this could end in no other way."

Erandur sobered up, ran up to the altar, and without further ado, started his ritual with some blathering about invoking the mercy of Mara.

After a few seconds, a voice whispered to him.

The voice was lilting and sweet. It soothed his aching muscles and his tired mind.

The voice smelled wrong. It had all the stench of tentacle rape, child molesting, and cum-guzzling, not that Tavius would know anything about the three.

Despite the knowledge, he began to walk forward.

"Kill him," the voice urged. "He'll betray you as soon as his ritual is complete. He'll kill you with that staff!"

"Tavius Jenkins," he turned to find the vampire shaking him. She even slapped him once. "You're being attacked. Come on. You're stronger than that."

He couldn't decide which voice sounded more delicious. Even the wolf within was torn between wanting to take the staff for himself and wanting to rip open Serana's dress, pin her to a wall, and have his way with her. He wondered what she would sound like. He could imagine a little of what sweet cries she would make as he licked that fine neck and nuzzled those perky breasts.

"No! Fool, what are you doing?! The staff! The traitor! Kill the traitor!" the otherworldly voice screamed as he put his curiosity to the test. The rich tang of copper in Serana's blood was stronger than was usual, probably the result of having the blood of man and Mer for the first time in days. The wolf within demanded satisfaction and Tavius's mouth closed around Serana's.

His canines grazed her lips, and blood flowed from the wound. By then, he couldn't hear the voice anymore. He could hear the voice ranting, certainly, but could make out nothing of what it was saying.

Serana struggled at first, her fists banging uselessly against his armor, but something made her freeze for a moment and stop resisting. Her own fangs drew a little blood when Tavius's tongue started exploring more liberally, but the Dragonborn was not in the state of mind to give a damn.

Tavius's right hand slid down to her crotch, and to that she objected with more vigor. Despite being considerably stronger than Serana, Tavius was annoyed by the lack of dexterity in his hands. Pinning Serana to the wall with his body, he started to strip off his gauntlets, and then his helmet.

The warmth of Serana's tongue was wondrous. Tavius tried to think if it was because he had not been laid in weeks but the pleasure of her fangs sinking into his throat was-

Tavius woke up from the trance, and punched the vampire in the stomach. Serana recoiled, out of breath and her fangs receding.

The one thing that relieved him was knowing that he need not worry about becoming a bloodsucker. The wolf blood that ran through him made him immune to all diseases.

"Treachery," he snarled, a hand pinning Serana's lithe form against the wall by the neck. He had always been impossibly strong for a human, though he now knew that it was because of the dragon blood running through his veins.

"Now! It's not too late! Kill him before he betrays you!"

Tavius turned around to look at Erandur, not quite comprehending what the voice was telling him. He wondered where he was. That there was a witness did not affect him at all. A priest of Mara would hardly object to the rape of a vampire, especially when the progenitor of all vampires was created when Molag Bal raped her. Indeed, it would be something to boast of when he returned to Jorrvaskr.

The voice screamed as the barrier around the skull was cracked open. Annoyed by the high-pitch squeal the Daedric cunt was making, Tavius let the vampire go and turned his mace on the staff.

"… What?" Tavius felt the beginnings of a massive hangover, the kind that put him out of commission for days.

"The Skull is destroyed," Erandur said, trying to catch his breath. "Thank you for your help, Dragonborn."

"An honor to meet you, priest of Mara, but… how do you know I'm the Dragonborn?"

"After effects of Vaermina's assault, probably," said Serana.

The name of the Daedric Prince triggered Tavius's memories, and they were none too good.

"Oh gods… did I make out with a vampire?" he recoiled from Serana's hands in horror.

"It seemed like the most effective method to distract you from Vaermina's whispers at the time."

"I apologize. I don't know what came over me."

"It was a Daedric Prince. You fought bravely," Serana forced a strained smile.

"Some Dragonborn I am, to be so easily affected by a Daedric Prince."

"Vaermina is the lord of nightmares and memories. You did well," the Dunmer tried to placate him.

"Tell me I did that, at least," Tavius pointed at the staff.

"You did."

"The only good news for tonight," Tavius said. "Lee-Serana, it seems I owe you another life-debt."

"Don't think too much on it. You might grow brains."

"Thank you, Dragonborn, and you as well, vampire," Erandur looked at Serana with newfound respect that Tavius would not have believed possible. Erandur was a priest of Mara, after all. "Only your quick thinking and courage stopped the Dragonborn from killing me, I suspect."

"How were you not affected by Vaermina?"

"We don't have dreams."

"How convenient."

"In any case, Dragonborn, I will be making my home at the shrine to Mara I've constructed in the antechamber. You are welcome to call upon me whenever you require assistance."

"Then I'll call upon you now until I fulfill my promise. If ever I make untoward sexual advances to this vampire, kill me."


End file.
